


and yet

by theamazingbard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, hanahaki but make it stupid, hanahaki is not fatal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard
Summary: “I thought witchers weren’t supposed to get sick!” Jaskier exclaims in horror.They’re also not supposed to fall in love, Geralt almost says as he glares at the bright yellow petals in his hands. Hanahaki.Yennefer is going to laugh herself insane.-Geralt contracts Hanahaki and does (not) deal with the consequences.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 380





	and yet

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from my tumblr

“I thought witchers weren’t supposed to get sick!” Jaskier exclaims in horror.

 _They’re also not supposed to fall in love,_ Geralt almost says as he glares at the bright yellow petals in his hands. Hanahaki. 

Yennefer is going to laugh herself insane.

They were walking to whatever the next shit town was closest. Trying to get a contract, a place to sing for the night, or both. For days now, Geralt has felt something caught in his lungs. A residual poison? Something he ate? He paid it no mind. 

Now, like every other problem he’s hoped would fade away on it’s own, has come back to bite him in the ass.

“Well, then, we have to fix this!” 

“No.” 

“Wh-what do you mean _no?”_ Jaskier has to run a little to catch up. Walking fast hasn’t always ensured escaping a conversation, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. 

Geralt tosses the slimy petals aside and wipes his hand on his trousers. If they keep going this way, they could reach Oxenfurt in a few days. Get his problem out of sight, and hopefully out of mind. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier squawks. “You can’t just ignore this. Not to mention it’s literally an easy fix!” 

He walks faster. 

“Oh, of _course_! You would rather have a _debilitating_ illness rather than talk about how you love someone.” A dramatic sigh. “Really, Geralt. You should have said something sooner. As an expert in matter of romance, I should advise you that while a broken heart is a fearsome thing, being unable to breathe is even worse.” 

Has Jaskier suffered from Hanahaki before? It wouldn’t be surprising. The way he so easily falls in love, he must have had to battle the disease a few times. He will not be asking for advice either way. 

The only solution is to fall out of love as fast as possible. 

-

Jaskier, unfortunately, does not leave his side. In fact, he seems determined to stay and make a larger nuisance of himself. “Did you expect I’d leave you? Like this, in your greatest hour of need?” 

No. That would be too easy. 

Instead, Geralt coughs up more petals by the day. Even with the herbs he’s picked up to treat the symptoms, the bright yellow bits of flower stubbornly make their way past his lips. 

Worse still, Jaskier is pestering him about who it is. 

“You have to tell me at some point!” He’d say. “Obviously, I’d help you. Be your wing man. Unless it’s with Yennefer. Then, I’d help you get over her. …Alright, if you’re really, _really_ set on being in love with her I’d help you. That’s just how good a friend I am!” 

Unbelievable. 

Geralt refuses to give him any hints. Why should he? If Jaskier had shared his… _affections_ (hm) he would have made himself known by now. And if Geralt let him know, this may be the very thing that drives him away. 

If it had been the many, many times Geralt told him to fuck off, that would be fine. Preferable. But imaging the bard turning him down, pity in those bright eyes, makes his stomach churn. It’s a wound he knows witchers have suffered from before. It makes them sloppy. Distracted. Resulting in dead witchers. 

He will not be such a witcher. 

And yet, he can’t find it in himself to push Jaskier away, _really_ push him away.

True, the bard is being annoyingly attentive. Offering water after a particularly bad spell, fanciful stories as a way of distraction, unwanted (but well-meaning) pieces of advice. He’s trying. 

It is not helping his condition. 

-

Yennefer takes one look at him and smiles knowingly. 

He knows that his lungs are rattling. The wheezes are difficult to conceal, and the scent of decaying flowers never quite dissipates.

The witch also has no qualms reading his mind. 

Damn her. 

“Really, Geralt?” She says with a smile. “Hanahaki?”

He sighs.

“It’s the bard.” 

“Hm.”

Yennefer looks almost disappointed in him. Perhaps she would be less so if he admitted that he equally does not want to have this affliction. “I assume you haven’t spoken to him about it?” 

Geralt looks at her. Really?

“You’re a bigger fool than I thought.” She still manages to brew him some bullshit potion. It’s better than what he’s been making himself. Helps him breathe. Helps him _think_. “Do you truly mean to wait this out? I could remove the flowers altogether.” 

An obvious solution. Remove the flowers, remove the feelings. He wouldn’t have to deal with the illness anymore. With any of it. 

He frowns.

Yennefer pats him on the shoulder. “Talk to him. I will _not_ be making this for you again.” 

Fuck.

-

It’s a few days later. They’re sitting in their room, resting from a long week. Two contracts. A performance nearly every night. Even Geralt could admit they needed a night in a proper bed. He’s also rapidly running out of the potion Yennefer made for him. 

Rationing it the way he has been has made the cough come back with a vengeance.

Jaskier has been watching him like a hawk. “So it wasn’t Yennefer then?” 

“Hm?” 

“You could have just told her. You’ve both…” Jaskier makes a rude gesture with his hands. “And you’re both immortal. And stubborn. And frustratingly beautiful.”

Geralt snorts. “It’s not Yennefer.” 

Jaskier drums his fingers against his leg. “You can’t keep going on like this. I know it’s affecting your witcher-ing. Aren’t you the first to say how a slow witcher is a dead witcher? We very much don’t want a dead witcher!” 

“Afraid you won’t find another muse?” 

“ _Some_ of us care when another person we love dies.” Jaskier shakes his head, as though the word ‘love’ didn’t fall from his lips as easily as petals fall from Geralt’s. It's not the same. “D’you think it pleases me to see you like this?” 

“It will pass.” 

“Maybe it doesn’t have to.” A beat passes. “Geralt. Have you not considered that your affections might be returned? That this could have a happy ending? It’s said that Hanahaki was once seen as a blessing. Given to us to see what we’re missing.” 

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s a disease. A magical one. Doesn’t mean there’s a reason for it.” Nothing as romantic as Jaskier thinks it to be, surely. 

“Love is hardly a disease. If it were, I might stop traveling with you!” 

Something inside him shifts. His lungs feel clearer. He frowns and turns to look at Jaskier, who is just strumming quietly. Nothing on his face would indicate that he just admitted or confessed to the depth of his feelings. 

Thankfully, Jaskier is easily able to translate the silence. 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know?” He sounds amazed. “Geralt, how many songs have I written for you? Gods. I should have known you don’t truly listen to them.” Jaskier shakes his head, but he’s laughing. “Well, then, you really should tell your beloved how you feel. They could very well feel the same and you’d have no way of knowing!” And he returns to playing a quiet song on his lute.

Un _believable._

“Jaskier.” 

“Hmmmm?” The bard looks up. There are no expectations in his eyes. But now that he’s breathing right for the first time in weeks, he can see clearly the adoration. 

Geralt takes a deep breath and for once says exactly how he’s feeling. 

**Author's Note:**

> how to write a fic according to theamazingbard: "make it stupid"
> 
> xoxo


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